


maybe i'm a dreamer

by bimmykimmy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bandmate au, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Small Towns, physical attraction, side Allurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 03:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bimmykimmy/pseuds/bimmykimmy
Summary: A small town rock band in search for a drummer.





	maybe i'm a dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this AU idea for a long time. Like seriously. I think I doodled them as a band back in 2017.  
> The two songs that inspired this au are both from Sick Puppies. Check them out [HERE ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgxjlU_iS9I)and [HERE ](https://youtu.be/1nfLRVrKkSY) and imagine Shiro singing, and the others playing, and its AWESOME. No? just me? okay.
> 
> Enjoy!

Nothing beats the muffled, full-to-bursting feeling Keith’s ears get after he plays. Despite his bandmates pestering him to wear plugs, Keith always ends up taking them out mid-set. The world just feels newer to him this way; like he has to pay extra attention lest he miss something. He soaks in the sound, letting it fill and fuel him. The music tonight is lacking, however. And even though his fingertips are stinging and raw, and the sweat is pouring down his face, he knows it isn’t complete.

He draws the last note out, sliding down the neck of his guitar until the sound fades away. He lets out an exasperated sigh and flips his bangs out of his eyes, a few protesting strands sticking to the sweat on his brow.

“Shiro, this is ridiculous. We need a drummer.”

Keith closes his mouth, the words not having come from him. He turns, brows raised, toward Lance. Lance adjusts his bass strap, settling it lower against his thighs, and glances Keith’s way too. “What? I’m right, _aren’t_ I?”

“Ah,” Keith nods suddenly; surprised that he’s actually on page with his bandmate. It’s nothing personal, but he and Lance always bicker. It’s sort of a ritual at this point. Sometimes they do it simply out of habit. “Yeah…I was just thinking the sound isn’t complete. We can’t just keep relying on a CD to cover the beat.”

Shiro drops his head, hand gripping the mic stand as he clicks it off, and sighs. “You’re all acting like it’s _easy_ to find someone who plays drums in this town. You realize our population is 90% old people, right?”

“Including you,” snorts Lance, and Shiro promptly throws his smelly, sweaty towel at him. “Kidding! Ew, agh! Gross. I was _just_ kidding!”

The assault is well deserved and when Lance regains composure he shares a knowing glance with Keith, frowns tugging at both of their lips. They know Shiro is right. It’s near impossible to find youthful faces in such a small, remote town. Garrison, Wisconsin doesn’t exactly offer the best of recruits for an aspiring rock band. Not to mention with winter being in full-swing, the single rural road connecting the town to civilization is near un-drivable.

“Which is why you are going to love me forever,” the sweet voice crackled from the old mic and amp set. The boys turn toward the open floor, chairs mostly flipped upside-down on the tables in the veteran’s home-turned-community center. Sitting at a table with the chairs turned upright, Allura uncrosses her legs and flips the corded microphone in her hand. Sitting on the floor near her, Pidge clacks away on her laptop as she messes with the mediocre sound system of the center. Allura grins with a sparkle in her vibrant eyes, “Guess who got a time slot at the concert hall?”

“I already love you forever—”

“In Tombow?!”

Both Lance and Shiro’s comments come out rather uselessly, Lance’s comment being…well, particularly unhelpful. And Shiro’s stating the obvious, as he is wont to do. There is no other concert hall within 80 miles other than the one in Tombow.

“How did you score that?” Keith adds as he lifts his guitar, slipping the strap over his head and jumps off the stage. He lifts open his case and sets in the guitar as Allura explains.

“I know a guy who works there,” she says with a grin. “He owed me a favor. I also think he’s madly in love with me, so I may have been using that to my advantage,” she adds as an afterthought, winking and sticking out her tongue.

Shiro whistles, impressed, and Lance practically leaps off the stage toward her. “As expected from our queen!” He runs to her with arms wide open for a hug, to which Pidge promptly trips him by merely sticking out her leg.

Keith can’t help but nod in agreement over the clatter of Lance’s tumble into chairs. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t impressed. Getting a time slot at the concert hall is near impossible— especially with the local schools holding their chorus and brass band concerts as of late. He focuses on the red guitar in his case, the dim lights of the center reflect off its dulling sheen. His fingers work delicately, adjusting the strap so it lays flat and he shuts the case. The locks click into place and he dips his head low, hiding the small smile that threatens to expose his excitement. Perhaps their dream of becoming a fully realized band isn’t so farfetched.

 

\--

 

Shiro’s driving abilities are as unconventional as ever, and the group is left white knuckled and a bit worse for wear as he pulls into the parking lot of the concert hall. Shiro, on the other hand, climbs out of the driver’s seat unscathed.

“They really need to start actually salting the roads,” he comments calmly.

Wobbly-legged yet still miraculously safe, Lance helps Allura out of the van. “How they haven’t taken your driver’s license away yet is beyond me,” he says while resting his hand on her lower back for longer than its intended purpose. She allows it.

“It’s because he’s the only man still legal to drive the heavy machines at the refinery,” Pidge retorts as she steps out of the van too, large black bag slung over her shoulder which undoubtedly holds the plethora of electronics she insists is necessary to carry on her at all times.

“I would prefer the 70 year old man driving…”

“Stop complaining and help me,” Shiro simply replies and rounds the back of the van to open the doors wide. The group sets to work, grabbing their assigned supplies and files their way into the back entrance of the concert hall.

The place looks, in a word, deserted. Which if all of them are being completely honest with themselves, isn’t entirely surprising. They did try their best to get the word out of their auditions though. Keith even went so far as to make copies of flyers at the small convenience store attached to the single gas station in Garrison town. He had driven around on his Kawasaki for hours pasting them in Tombow. His hands almost had been, if not actually, frost bitten.

He wears gloves now, of course not when he actually needs them, as he pulls the large black box on rollers into the hall. The cold filters away as the warmth of the old building— albeit subtle—engulfs him. Behind him, he hears Shiro whistle, impressed once again.

“This place is incredible,” Allura’s honeysuckle voice echoes high in the rafters amongst the old architecture of the hall. It seems rather massive compared to the community center they’re used to playing in. “Could you imagine selling out a place like this?”

Hearing those words, the boys turn starry-eye, their minds flying to the same imaginary land with an adoring crowd, red velvet seats all filled, screaming and cheering and rocking out to their music.

The shared vision is not lost on any of them, and with new determination they continue the set up with only minor setbacks. Early morning slips into late morning, and their first arrivals finally appear at the front doors.

Pidge, sitting at the makeshift reception desk (which consists of a folding card table they found in a storage closet and her laptop), looks up from her typing. “Name?”

“Rolo,” the suave, high bridge nosed guy smiles down at her. “Like the candy,” he adds. His eyes have that droopy, heartthrob look to them that Pidge knows will automatically be deduction points from Lance. She glances at the clipboard she set up and finds the list of names of people who reserved an audition slot; finding the candyman’s name, she gestures for him to take a seat. He doesn’t actually have to wait, since he’s one of four people who actually inquired beforehand, but she likes the dramatics.

A few minutes and texts later, Pidge leads him into the main hall where the others are waiting. She lifts her hand, palm up, “Rolo.” And with that, she leaves again back to the front, closing the doors behind her.

She sighs as she sits down, drowning out the same song she’s been hearing all morning. She types away, headphones over one of her ears as she does some lazy mixing, and before she realizes it, Candyman is waltzing out of the hall puffy chested and proud. The double doors swing against the wall from the force of his push, startling Pidge just enough for her to press a key in error. Without a word, she watches him leave the venue, his frame disappearing beyond the glass doors of the main entrance.

“What an asshole!” she hears Lance whine loudly when Allura slips out and sits next to her with a small sigh of her own.

“Not goin’ well?” Pidge asks with a sideways glance to her friend.

“It’s…as expected,” Allura admits through another sigh. She pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged on the chair, elbows resting on the table with her chin in her hands.

“So, not well?”

“I didn’t say that,” Allura cooed with a small smile. She adjusted her position, grabbing the clipboard and flipping through the mostly empty pages as if more names would inexplicably appear. “The boys are restless. I can see how much they want today to be successful. But perhaps it was just too much to hope for. That last guy was good enough, but I could tell something was off. Turns out he’s not even from around here— just passing through on a road trip.”

Pidge and Allura chat this way for some time, listening to the muffled words from behind the closed hall doors that progressively get angrier and angrier. Before it turns into all-out war in there, Allura stands. “Maybe some lunch is in order?”

“The burger place down the street is quite famous,” an alluring, yet curiously foreboding tenor voice pierces their friend bubble. The two glance toward it to see a regal, white haired gentleman (no other descriptor would suffice) walking down the ornate wooden staircase that leads to the balcony seats. “I’m sure your band members could use the break. They seem…stressed.”

Pidge leans over as she stands, whispering, “Who’s the Ken doll?”

“The one who owed me a favor,” Allura hisses back, keeping her smile wide as she turns her attention back to the princely fellow. “Thank you, Lotor! We’ll try it out.”

“I could take you there,” he suggests. “I’ve got quite a large—”

“Dick!” Lance blurts as he opens the door, Shiro and Keith trailing close behind him. Keith has his usual frown, arms crossed stubbornly as he pouts. The two are obviously bickering again.

“Well, that too…” Lotor says quietly, but it’s lost in the fray. His offer to drive, however, is not lost on the group, and the lot of them make their way to the small dive. They pull up to it, and surprisingly there are cars already filling the small lot.

“This place was on that TV show!” Pidge exclaims suddenly, pointing at the small white paper pasted to the inside of the window. She’s practically climbed into the front seat in excitement. “I wondered why the name seemed so familiar.”

“The burrito burger is their specialty,” Lotor explains with a grin into the rearview mirror. When his pretty eyes meet Pidge’s, a chill runs down her spine and she promptly mutes herself as she slips back down into her seat.

The group follows Lotor in, finding a seat at the biggest booth in the place which barely has enough room for them all. Shiro eventually elects to grab a chair and sit on the end like a CEO in a business meeting. Keith sits on the innermost seat of the booth, across from Lance who still refuses to give him any look other than a glare. When their server comes up, however, Lance’s attitude switches on a dime.

“What can I get you?” the perky blonde says with a wide smile; and it’s genuine, or at least she’s perfected a fake one to feel genuine. Either way, she’s stunning. And everyone at the table takes notice. Keith can’t hold back an eye roll when Lance breaks out the one-liners. It breaks the tension though, bringing a small smile to his lips as everyone laughs at Lance’s expense when the flirting goes right over the server’s head. Or she notices it and chooses not to acknowledge it.

It’s better this way. For Lance’s sake, if Allura’s heated gaze is any indication.

Keith can’t help but be a little jealous. Lance and Allura, as indecisive and elusive as they are about it, seem to really care for each other. It’s sweet, in its own way, and Keith isn’t the type to wish ill upon anyone. Even _if_ that someone is Lance. When all is said and done, Lance is his friend. _And_ one hell of a bass guitarist.

“How about you, dear?” The server’s voice pulls him from his reverie and it’s then that Keith notices everyone staring patiently at him. He blinks a bit, lifting the plastic menu up and quickly glancing over it.

“Uh, fries,” he decides quickly, embarrassed he hasn’t actually looked at it yet. He must have been really out of it to have daydreamed that long.

“And a number four,” Shiro adds with a smile and they all offer their menus back to the waitress. Keith smiles in thanks to Shiro who returns with a knowing nod. Shiro understands Keith better than anyone, so Keith knows he’ll probably enjoy the number four— whatever it is.

“You all seem to really enjoy playing,” Lotor eventually strikes up conversation with the group. It was a little awkward at first, given his…unique aura that no one can really put a name to. But after offering to pay for everyone’s lunch, they’ve all seemed to warm up to him. “I’m surprised you don’t have a drummer. You’re quite good.”

“We’ve been playing together for a few years now. Keith and I for almost a decade. Of course, we were pretty bad at the beginning since we were…what was it? 13, 14?”

Keith shrugs as his answer, grabbing his glass of water and swirling it around a bit before taking a sip. He glances over his glass when Lotor responds, “Fascinating! Simply wonderful.”

“Who talks like that?” Lance whispers to Pidge as he reaches across her to make it seem like he’s grabbing preparatory napkins.

“Vampires,” Pidge responds seriously. “Vampires do.”

“Any luck today, then?” Lotor continues, having found solace in the conversation despite absolutely hearing the exchange that just happened between Lance and Pidge. The group’s demeanor visibly deflates, leaving Lotor blinking and glancing left and right awkwardly. “It appears I’ve said something wrong.”

“We’re at our rope’s end,” Allura explains softly. The group nods solemnly in agreement as Lotor looks about then back at Allura. “We only have the venue booked until 2, and I’m not entirely certain we’ll have any more auditions.”

Lance starts folding origami with the paper napkin, frowning as he does. Pidge slowly lifts and lowers her bendy straw in her lemonade. Shiro, despite usually being the optimistic one, slumps in his chair and flicks a quarter to keep it spinning on the table. Keith, on the other hand, is staring elsewhere. His gaze had drifted beyond his friends, and whatever Lotor is, and found the small view of the kitchen behind the counter. The steam and smoke rising from the grills behind the bar style counter obscure the view, but Keith doesn’t need it. He knows what he saw.

An angel.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit ridiculous. But he _is_ handsome.

And Keith _is_ in a mood.

He blames Lance. That’s easiest.

He watches the guy work; sleeves pushed up past his elbows, headband tied around his forehead like some sort of Hollywood martial arts master. He works fast too, efficient, and it must be perfect for the restaurant during this time. Soon after they grabbed their booth, more customers filed in through the doors. The small place feels even smaller now, with groups of people young and old standing near the door waiting for an open table, booth, or bar stool.

Keith sees him lift a huge pot from somewhere beyond his line of sight, sweat dampening small strands against the back of his neck. The guy pauses, lips moving as if he’s muttering something to himself. Keith pulls his gaze away when he feels as if the cook will look up, and nervously sips at his water again— back to the safety of band talk.

“So _that’s_ what the song is about,” Keith hears Pidge say as soon as he focuses on his friends again. Before he has time to inquire what song she’s referring to, their waitress triumphantly arrives with the platter of food. The aroma is enough to get all their mouth’s watering, and much to Keith’s pleasure the burger she places down in front of him looks the most appetizing.

 

\--

 

Lotor leads the group back toward his car after lunch, chatting away about the history of this long street. Apparently the road the concert hall is on is the most historic in the area— and only the best of the best ever sell it out. Allura listens in captivation while Lance walks beside her with a suspicious scowl on his face, leaning in rather close to inspect Lotor.

Keith listens passively too, a small content smile on his lips as he lets himself bask in the odd dynamics of his friend group. Eventually Pidge elbows him, offering her phone with an unsent text typed out.

_How much do you want to bet this forces Lance to finally make a move on Allura?_

Keith snorts a bit, making a face at Pidge and instinctively turning toward Shiro, who he expects a disapproving look from. However, Shiro is not there. Keith stops short. “Where’s Shiro?”

 

\-- -- -

 

 “Is it alright if I take 15?” Hunk unties the wrap around his head and uses it to wipe the sweat and grease that has layered itself on his face. He grimaces at the smear it makes on the fabric and tosses it into the sink.

Sal uses his apron to wipe his own hands, grinning from ear to ear. His and Hunk’s bulky figures fill practically half of the kitchen, it’s no wonder the servers keep their distance when times are busy. They have a system and it works. Anyone caught in the fray may find themselves covered in grease. “Of course, bud. We had a big rush today— make it 30!”

Hunk smiles gratefully, but he knows he’ll only take the 15. He doesn’t dare to slack on the job, even if the owner suggests it. Call it a blessing and a curse, but Hunk prides himself on his hard work. He appreciates the sentiment, of course, and says his thanks as he takes off his own apron and hangs it on the wall near the breakroom.

Humming a tune he just can’t get out of his head, Hunk slips through the back door, propping it open a crack with the small brick that sits off to the side. He had grabbed his sticks before leaving; he never goes anywhere without them and that includes his job at the diner. Romelle gives him a hard time about it, but he knows it’s all in good fun. She’s a curious one who— given the opportunity—would try anything. Hunk is certain she’s going to come to him for lessons one of these days.

He sits on the cold cement curb, flipping a plastic bucket upside down and situating it between his knees. The crisp air has his breath leaving in puffs of smokey clouds, but he can’t be bothered. The kitchen is hot and he welcomes the brisk freeze, despite the goosebumps that rise on his arms.

He starts his beat, improvising as well as borrowing from known tempos as he plays. The drumsticks are like an extension of himself, beating the plastic bucket with a snapping precision as he twirls them this way and that. His eyes flutter closed, falling into the rhythm as he nods his head along. He incorporates the sides of the bucket too, letting the slightly different tone add flavor to his beat. At the end of his ditty, he spins the stick in his hand skillfully before letting all fall to silence once again. He sighs and opens his eyes and screams.

“That was incredible!” the extremely buff, awesome haired guy exclaims not two feet away from Hunk’s face, his wide smile undeterred by Hunk’s horror screech. “Are you available right now?!”

Hunk’s eyes are wide, heart most certainly beating too fast, and he puts a hand to his chest. “I— what?” Hunk blushes.

“My band is holding auditions for a drummer, and _you_ are a _drummer_ ,” the guy says, it like it’s law. Like it’s already decided. Hunk feels his mind whirl, face still warm in embarrassment.

There’s a silent pause between them. Hunk rapidly searches for a proper response in this seemingly unreal situation. He glances around looking for reality show cameras before softly mumbling, “I’ve got work.”

“Oh,” the guy says after a beat. Hunk looks up at the obviously disappointed expression on the stranger’s face, and despite all logic saying otherwise, Hunk feels guilty. “Well, shit.”

Hunk stands, offering a quiet apology as he scratched the back of his head— still cold from sweat.

“Shiro!” a voice calls out from somewhere near the streetside and the stranger turns his head sharply.

“Yeah, coming!” he calls back and suddenly turns to Hunk with a determined gleam to his eye that almost causes Hunk to step backwards. “I’ve gotta go, but listen…you’ve seriously got talent. I’ve seen a lot of street performances before, but that? That was something special.”

Those words filled Hunk, warmth spreading throughout his chest, and settled in his heart like a peptalk from a little league coach. Or better yet, words of wisdom from a demigod in disguise.

The guy is gone before he knows it and Hunk is barely able to mutter out a “see ya.” He stands there in silence, words of the stranger echoing in his mind like some sort of possessed mantra. Suddenly coming to his senses, he gasps and his legs move on his own, jogging toward the street and glancing out beyond the giant metal dumpster. He catches the long flowing white hair of one Lotor Kaltinago—also known as the only son to the richest man in the entire Midwest. Hunk quirks an eyebrow at the sight as the heir isn’t necessarily known for having friends. The sudden confidence had passed however, and he reluctantly slips back into the diner to finish his shift.

 

* * *

 

 

A week passes since the auditions and the band is back again at the community center venue practicing a set. The rest of the auditions went as expected: poorly. Although they _were_ pleasantly surprise to have some unexpected visitors, none quite fit the bill of what they are looking for.

Pidge scolded them for being too picky, but Allura had been quick to placate her by voicing her understanding of not wanting to pick just _anyone._ Their band was special, like a family. They can’t just let anyone waltz into it just because they can hold a beat.

Needless to say, the band remains drummer-less, and tensions are just as high.  Keith tunes his guitar as Shiro paces doing vocal warm-ups. Lance is late, but it’s not a problem. He’s been working extra at his family’s shop and despite his avid denial, they all know he’s saving up to ask Allura out on a fancy date.

Pidge clacks away at her laptop while Allura scrolls through her phone. The scene is all too familiar and Keith can’t help but sigh a little. He had gotten his hopes up, even just a little bit, and now he and his friends are paying the price for it.

He turns to face downstage, frowning as a surge of disappointment rushes through him again— stronger than he expected. He closes his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth in frustration when he hears a set of doors open. Normally he would continue tuning his guitar and start playing riffs, but the sudden silence causes him to open his eyes once again. Shiro has stopped his warm-ups, and even Pidge has silenced her typing.

Keith blinks, glancing around for a moment before turning around to face upstage again.

Standing near the entryway is the cook from the diner. He looks just as agonizingly sexy, big black puffy coat and earmuffs aside. Keith has half the mind to swoon then and there, but luckily for him he is a master of subtlety. His mind catches up, though, and he realizes this isn’t a fever dream fantasy but indeed real life.

Everyone remains frozen even after Lance walks in, giving his own silent stare as he makes his way awkwardly past the unexpected guest. He slips off his own jacket and hops on stage and whispers to Shiro, who is grinning ear to ear.

“Can we help you?” Allura says in a sweet, borderline customer service voice.

“Ah— sorry,” the cook blurts suddenly, mitten hands wringing nervously on the straps of his shoulder bag. “I just…um, well the nice old lady in the front said you’d be here. I’m—”

“Our new drummer.”

Everyone, including the cook, shoots surprised stares toward Shiro, who stands proudly center stage with his hands on his hips.

Keith feels his stomach do a small, but definitive, backflip.

“You’re a drummer?” Lance quirks an eyebrow in the cook’s direction.

“Uh, yeah, well…kind of,” the cook stays near the entrance, not moving a muscle as he struggles through his words. “I’ve never actually played with a band…or anyone.”

“How did you know he was a drummer?” Keith can’t qualm his curiosity and takes a step forward, wanting to know exactly _why_ his best friend, practically blood brother, knows _anything_ about this guy.

“I saw him play back in Tombow,” Shiro says with a grin aimed at the still nervous marshmallow near the door. “I knew you’d come.”

Which is a lie, but Shiro says it to sound cool.

“You live in Tombow, then?” Allura asks as she stands, walking over to the cook and offering to take his coat. He hesitates at first, but eventually lets her take it after stuffing his earmuffs and mittens in the pockets.

“Yeah, I uh, took the bus to get here. I’m sorry I didn’t, like, tell you all. I…well, I don’t actually have any of your contact information,” he explains nervously as he fishes in his back pocket for a moment before pulling out a well-creased flyer that Keith had put up around Tombow. “I know the date for the official auditions passed, so I wanted to connect with you but…there’s no phone number on the flyer.”

Keith feels his heart stop and drop to his stomach as everyone slowly turns to look at him. The cook blinks, watching the event take place silently before speaking again in panic. “S-so! That’s why I took the bus here. It was a long shot, but I figured you’d probably be practicing on a weekend anyway. Sorry that it’s so sudden. I just…what you said to me at the diner…”

“Then what the hell are we just standing around for?!” Lance blurts as he straps up his bass. “You came to audition, didn’t you? Then let’s do it, man.”

“Seconded,” Shiro says with a decisive nod. “Pidge, go grab the storage room keys— we’re gonna need that set.”

 

\--

 

Luckily for the group, the suspense doesn’t last long, as the cook very obviously knows what he’s doing as he sets up the drum set. Introductions and formalities are had, and everyone now stands before the stage in anticipation. Even Pidge isn’t working anymore, her mixing long lost to the heat of the moment.

Keith watches in anxious-filled silence as Hunk, as he has introduced himself, makes his way to the set. He brought his own sticks, which he fiddles with nervously. If Keith is perfectly honest, despite the guy’s overall sex appeal, he doesn’t have the aura of a drummer. He seems too skittish, too soft. That doesn’t mean he is any less attracted to him though.

“You sure you’ll be okay, dude?” Lance asks again as Hunk places the music sheet on the stand and adjusts the height. “It’s not, like, a requirement for you to sight-read. We can do a cover.”

“It’s okay,” Hunk responds with a tone dripping with confidence that catches everyone off guard. It’s like a switch flipped as soon as he sat in the drummer’s seat.

They’d all be liars to say they aren’t intrigued, if not a little turned on. Keith is just glad he isn’t alone in that department.

“Great!” Shiro is still all grins, though he too has already begun the process of falling into his stage persona. He turns forward, grabbing the stand and turning on the mic. He settles into his stance, head lowering. “Count us in then, Hunk.”

There’s a pause. Silence filling the air, thick and expectant.

Keith tries to focus on the floor in front of him, but his eyes keep pulling toward Hunk. He lets out a shaky breath. He’s _definitely_ in trouble.

Hunk releases a breath too at the same time and then lifts his sticks in the air, cracking them together four times and—

Lance takes off, bass beat lifting into the air as his fingers pluck the thick strings with artistic precision. The short solo is coming to an end and Keith knows his and the drum part is quick to follow. It’s the moment of truth, and everyone is holding their breath.

Keith rips into his part, eyes going wide when the accompanying sound of drums fills the air too. It’s breathtaking, the sound thudding wildly in his chest as Hunk slips into perfect rhythm. He doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but while he plays he turns wide-eyed toward Hunk. Much to his relief, everyone else has done the same.

In the audience of two, Allura smiles wide and Pidge smirks in her own, already ten steps ahead. Keith catches her gaze and her grin grows wider with a secret knowledge that she is somehow a savant at leeching.

He’s _definitely, definitely_ in trouble.

Hunk’s eyes are closed, so he doesn’t notice everyone’s stares. The song quickly continues and Shiro’s voice fills the rest, words slipping from his tongue with powerful emotion— raw and dominant in an angry way that would leave anyone wanting to fight. Keith leans into his own mic at the appropriate moments to add in his soft supporting vocals, swaying as he plays the riffs.

The song comes to an end, unfortunately, and the last note lingers longer than normal, up in the air like a promise.

“That—”

“You’re hired,” Keith blurts over Shiro, cheeks flushed and heart racing. He feels his hands shaking and he doesn’t even have the thought to be embarrassed by his outburst. The rest of the band members look to him in shock, but the moment passes rather quickly. The shared expression morphs into one of unanimous agreement, of slow nods and grins.

Hunk stands suddenly, holding his drumsticks pointed upward; unnatural and tense. “A-ah, was I okay? I mean...like, I think I did okay, but it’s really up to you all. Shiro, damn, your vocals are incredible. Lance, your bass playing is nothing like I’ve ever heard before. And Keith—”

Keith suddenly goes tense, a chill running up his spine. He hates how nicely his name sounds in Hunk’s voice. Or rather, loves it.

This is dangerous.

“Your guitar riffs— wow.” Hunk breathes out the compliment and Keith plays his actual swoon off as a move to grab his towel and wipe his face. The gesture appears very closed off, almost defensive. Hunk’s expression falters, if only for a moment.

“You are just what we want,” Shiro says confidently. Then, after only a short pause and glance toward Keith who has hidden his face in his towel, “We _need_ you in our band.”

Allura and Pidge have moved to the base of the stage, looking up with bright eyes as the band members all finally turn toward Hunk, expectant expressions like children waiting to hear the answer to _are we going to Disneyland?_

Hunk’s cheeks are flushed and he breaks eye contact by looking at his hands when he says, “I’d love to.”

 

\--

 

Official band business aside, Allura decides that the group needs a fun night out. They’ve all been working hard, day in and day out, bringing Hunk up to speed with how things work. Granted, it’s not too much to take in, and Hunk seems to be a quick learner.

Allura flickers the lights of the community center to capture the practicing band’s attention. “Put the instruments away, boys, we are going to Tombow tonight!”

“There’s actually an open mic night at Sal’s tonight,” Hunk offers and when Allura looks at him, he clams up. “I-- I mean, uh, if you’d guys wanna go to something like that.”

“Of course we would, dude!” Lance, ever the realist, wraps his arm around Hunk’s shoulder and gives him a good shake. “That sounds awesome! I’ve never see Tombow’s nightlife. Do people actually exist after the sun sets?!”

Hunk snorts at that, “Surprisingly, yes. But it really isn’t that much busier than Garrison.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it. This town dies at 6.”

Hunk laughs again, scanning the room to measure everyone’s state of mind. Shiro is already offering up to drive, which is denied by Pidge, who offers to call an Uber instead. When Hunk’s gaze lands on Keith’s he pauses, his brain stuttering.

 _He’s so intense,_ he thinks in a small panic. It’s been like this for a while now. Ever since he joined. Ever since his comment on his playing. He figures a new face in the band is always difficult to get used to, but for the most part everyone has welcomed him with open arms. Keith, however…he’s difficult to get. Some days he seems more open to the group, other days he barely utters a word. And those eyes. Hunk has never met someone with an actual, literal piercing gaze. He’s only ever read that phrase in books, and could never relate— well, now he can.

He wonders if Keith dislikes him. Maybe by coming to audition on his own volition was too assertive. What if Keith hates assertive guys? What if his comment ticked Keith off? What if Keith has an issue with Hunk’s size? That’s happened before— the size thing. Smaller guys wanting to pick a fight, thinking they have to take down the largest guy in the bar. Hunk googled it once; it’s definitely a thing.

“Let’s just take my truck,” Allura says, settling Shiro and Pidge’s squabbling before it graduates to all-out actual yelling. Shiro, bless him, is a kind labrador of a man, but hell if he isn’t stubborn. “It’s out of the shop and ready to be driven!”

The group agrees, Shiro sulking in the background. They clean up their supplies and store them safely away. Allura’s truck is less spacious than she let on, but they somehow manage to pile everyone into it.

Hunk shifts in his seat, sitting a little painfully on the seatbelt lock but not even planning on mentioning it. He’s the new guy, he constantly reminds himself, he can’t just _make_ demands like “scoot over.”

He looks out the window as the others squeeze in, and he feels a warm body press up against his. In the reflection of the window, he catches that piercing gaze once again, and almost yelps. Luckily, his mild peep is overpowered by the roar of the engine as Allura brings the truck to life.

There’s more shifting, more grunting, and eventually Pidge groans and declares, “This is NOT going to work. Keith, get on his lap.”

“Why do I…oh, okay.”

Hunk, still keeping his gaze steadily trained out the window, does not notice the silent exchange that occurs between Pidge and Keith. Then he feels Keith shift next to him. Hunk’s eyes widen, snapping his head back toward the crowded backseat only to catch a face full of Keith’s shoulder and upper arm as he adjusts himself into his lap.

If his brain were some sort of software running machine, an error code would be bleeding red all over right about now. Hunk holds his breath as Keith finally sits, facing forward without so much as a word.

 _Not saying anything makes it more awkward,_ Hunk internally screams, his voice echoing into the void of his mind.

“If you’re all comfortable, I’d like to start moving,” Allura says, and does not give them ample time to respond before lurching the truck forward.

And this is Hunk’s life now. It might as well be. Two weeks ago he was a part-timer at Sal’s, drumming on plastic buckets, and today he is a drummer for a small town band…with the band’s guitarist in his lap.

Sure.

Hunk lets out a small sigh, letting his head fall back against the seat as the group makes their way down the single, rural road to Tombow. At least there’s Sal’s waiting for him after this…whatever this is. Predicament.

If he’s completely honest though, it isn’t the worst possible outcome. Sure, he isn’t _entirely_ certain Keith doesn’t hate him, but Keith feels nice in his lap. Warm. And he smells good too, almost like a bonfire. Hunk lifts his head again to stare at the back of Keith’s head and neck. His hair is long, the longest in the band. Hunk wonders if that’s a statement of some sort. He wonders a lot of things lately, about Keith, about everyone— too shy to ask.

Although, despite being new, Hunk is already privy to quite a lot of information about the crew. The dating-but-not-quite-yet status of Allura and Lance; Shiro’s current rocky relationship with Adam; as well as Pidge’s interesting “I’m saving myself for marriage,” comment. Whatever _that_ means.

He doesn’t know much about Keith though. He’d like to. He has _eyes,_ and Keith certainly isn’t hard on them. Plus, Hunk is a liar if he said he hadn’t snuck in a few chances to check him out. He assumes he’s been sneaky about it…maybe he hasn’t.

Hunk finds himself lost in thought, wondering about Keith’s relationship status — wandering so far as imaginary scenarios. It’s a nice reverie, keeping himself occupied, but not realizing exactly what these daydreams are doing to him.

Just as his luck would have it, the generally positive direction the drive has been going gets promptly derailed by a series of potholes.

_Oh, no. Oh no. OH NO!_

 

\--

 

Keith is thankful the sun sets early this time of year, making the inside of the truck all of pitch-black save for the occasional small street light they pass. His face burns hot and his heart clenches painfully in his chest, threatening to burst out.

Pidge had given him a very distinctive wink, and he had acted like a man possessed. He regrets the decision wholeheartedly now, of course. He hasn’t exactly been the most talkative to their newest member. So, what’s the normal course of action?

Definitely not _saddling into said member’s lap._

 Keith closes his eyes tightly, biting his lower lip when he feels it poke against his rear when they travel over yet another pothole.

Definitely, definitely not this.

 

\--

 

Allura pulling into Sal’s parking lot is a saving grace Hunk thought would never come. He wants to cry when Keith says nothing and simply slips off his lap and out of the truck. Hunk, with hands covering his face, lets out a long sigh. He feels like a bulldozer has just rammed his entire body into a cement wall. He sits there basking in an unsettling concoction of embarrassment and titillation.

 _I am the worst person alive,_ he thinks bitterly _._

“Hunk, you alright?” Shiro pokes his head into the door, giving Hunk a concerned look as he starts to size him up. “Did you get car sick?”

Hunk panics, standing quickly before Shiro can see the very obvious bulge in his pants. “Ahhh! Yep! Good to go! Sorry, was just daydreaming,” Hunk explains with the half-truth and walks hurriedly past Shiro and the others, subtly adjusting himself.

He doesn’t know what encourages him to do so, but he glances at Keith as he passes him, gazes locking in a frozen moment that seems to drown out all else. It’s like a heartbeat, a gunshot, whatever waxing poetic he can come up with. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s _intense._ Hunk wonders now if a literal piercing gaze can also be fiery.

 

\-- --- -

Sal’s is one part families, two parts rowdy youth. The place is a lot busier than it was before, as noted by Shiro who gets ceremoniously shoved into the wall when he tries to pass a group.

Keith chuckles at that. It’s always fun to see Shiro struggle in these types of situations— not that Keith is any better at them, but it’s a nice reminder that Shiro is human after all. To his right, Lance and Allura carve out a nice spot for both of them near the old jukebox, Allura pinning Lance to the area where jukebox meets wall as they talk with low tones and deep stares. Pidge finds herself a buddy at the bar, an older gentleman who seems to enjoy talking fervently with his hands. It’s almost like he’s got more than two with how fast he moves them.

The main dining area is cleared off, which Keith figures contributed to the overall crowded feeling. There’s a mic stand, a small amp connected to it, and some paper party decorations to top off the whole look. It’s charming, in its own way. And Keith can see now why Hunk suggested it.

Keith freezes, eyes widening a moment at the thought of Hunk. He looks around, subtly if not hopefully, and doesn’t see their newest member. The small twinge of disappointment gets overshadowed by the squeal of the mic turning on and the subsequent groans and laughter from the audience.

A behemoth of a man donning a pristine apron—Keith assumes that’s Sal— stands on the make-shift stage area and taps the microphone. “Thank you all for comin’ to Sal’s 2nd Annual Open Mic Night the Third!”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at the title, and after a minute or two of introductions Sal begins the event. It doesn’t take very long for Keith to find himself not entirely interested in the performances; not because they’re boring or bad, but…

 He glances over his shoulder, finding Shiro chatting with a handsome man in uniform who also got shoved into the wall. Thinking better than to interrupt, Keith silently slips away, following the framed collection of baseball cards on the wall until it leads toward a narrow hallway. He steps slowly down it, eyeing the various décor that gives the place a welcoming, throw-back type of feeling. A smile is on his lips when he hears the rhythmic tapping slipping in through a propped open door.

The cold air seeps in through the opening, and Keith presses up against it and peers out like a kid peeking on Christmas morning. Hunk is there, drumsticks in hand as he taps away on the bottom side of a bucket. Keith feels a relief wash over him, and although it should really surprise him, it doesn’t. He knows this is who he was looking for.

With perhaps ill-placed confidence, Keith slips out of the building to the cold night air, trying his best to actually make sound as to not spook the drummer. Fortunately, his presence is immediately noticed. Unfortunately, Keith’s brain has selective memory and the image of the car ride over is suddenly displayed in HD in his mind’s eye. Goodbye confidence.

However, Hunk is the first to speak. He stands quickly, kicking the bucket away accidentally. “ _Keith!_ ” he pauses for the crash of the bucket, “Uh, hey, what’s—ah—what’s up, man?”

“Crowds aren’t my thing,” Keith elects to say as the internal panic begins to set in when he feels the unstoppable warmth begin to spread across his face.

“You’re in a rock band…” Hunk says with an amused chuckle.

“Aren’t _always_ my thing,” Keith corrects with a short smile that quickly morphs into one of those closed, tight-lipped…mouth movements. “W-what are you doing out here? Aren’t you cold?”

_Good, good tactic. Make the conversation about him!_

Hunk shrugs, turning himself toward the alleyway and looks up to the night sky. “I just needed a little air.” Tombow is definitely larger than Garrison, but the stars are still easily visible at night. A nice juxtaposition of urban and nature. The dark sky offers little to the conversation, however, and the two are left standing in chilly-aired silence.

“Look, I—”

“Maybe I sh—”

They start at the same time and go silent at the same time. Their gazes meet, blinking and staring.

“Go ahead,” Hunk says with a push of his hand.

“No, you— you can talk first,” Keith insists, and damn his face is warm.

Hunk sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the brick wall. The sticks in his hand press against his bicep, pointing toward Keith as he stares at them for a moment.

“Do you hate me?” Hunk finally says after another bout of quiet between them. He doesn’t look at Keith. Instead he stares intently at the ground, focusing on a small patch of ice glistening in the buzzing streetlight.

Keith stares right at him though, eyes wide and questioning. He feels his shoulders slump as he breathes, “What?”

“Do you hate me?” Hunk repeats with a grimace; eyes narrowing. “Everyone in the band talks to me and gives me feedback, but you,” he finally looks at Keith. “You barely even look at me. And when you do, it’s like you’re trying to combust me with mind powers.”

“I don’t...” Keith starts slowly, on the defense, but it quickly fades when he sees that flare of desperation in Hunk’s gaze. He sighs and brings himself next to Hunk against the wall. He crosses his arms too as he says, “You’re right. I’ve been a total dick…I’m not really the best at new friend…making. For ten years Shiro was my only friend. Lance— well, never mind about him.” Hunk laughs softly, and it’s appreciated. Keith smiles too, looking toward Hunk. “I’m sorry it seemed like I didn’t like you,” he continues. “You’re…”

Keith pauses, feeling Hunk’s gaze begin to burn; since when did this guy have such beautiful eyes?! And what the hell was he just about to say?! Why does this keep happening?

He swallows heavily, “I mean, I li— you— you play good.”

Hunk’s silence is devastating and Keith has half the mind to simply turn around and go back into Sal’s. He folds his arms tighter across his chest, turning away a little in a futile attempt to hide. When the little voice in his head is just about to get his way, Hunk’s voice finally breaks the silence.

“You’re cute, you know that, right?”

Keith’s brain short-circuits. “What?”

“Like, it’s not an act, right? You _definitely_ can’t be this adorable when you look like the lovechild of a motorcycle and a knife.”

Keith sputters, mouth forming words long before his brain has time to decide which words they will be. Eventually, he settles on shaking his head and saying, “You can’t just _say_ things like that.”

“Well, I did,” Hunk retorts rather quickly and it almost sends Keith reeling. “So, _bleh_.” He sticks out his tongue. He looks— and feels— pretty confident now. Knowing that Keith doesn’t in fact hate him, and is apparently not weirded out by his accidental boner, or at least he’s kind enough not to bring it up. Things might turn out alright in this band of theirs.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

Hunk, mid proud snicker, pauses and blinks to let his synapses fire. He turns to Keith, “Sorry, what?”

True to his word, Keith pounces on Hunk, hands coming to the sides of his face as he presses his lips hard against his. Hunk gasps into it, wrapping his arms around Keith and pulling him in close like he’d been waiting for it.

Perhaps he had been.

\--

The lights are blinding, casting the sea of people in shadow. Shiro laughs, egging them on to cheer and scream as he asks them the ever-thought-provoking “How’s everyone doing tonight?” The response is a healthy mix of happy cheering, drunken wooing, and one very enthusiastic, “Raw me, daddy!” Shiro laughs again, pointing in the general direction of the voice.

Hunk tightens his headband, a move his fans have come to know he means business, and the lights adjust on him. A group of girls squeal in delight as he twirls his stick and kicks his bass drum a couple times.

Keith keeps his expression stoic, a trait his fanclub simply worships. He hides his content smile when he hears a group of the crowd scream their love, laced with obscenities.

Lance is a ham, of course, and everyone adores him for it. He winks and blows a kiss into the crowd, and it’s for a particular someone, but the crowd doesn’t need to know that.

Offstage, Pidge stands with headphones in and fingers at the ready for sound adjustment. To her side, Lotor stands with crossed arms and a devilish smile. He knew they were a good investment, if the sold-out venue is any indication. His father hadn’t been happy— not wanting to associate with some small-town unknown band. But Lotor is nothing if not persistent.

Back under the lights, Shiro turns to Hunk and gives him a nod.

Hunk glances toward Keith, a smile on his lips, and lifts his drumsticks high in the air, cracking them together to count them in.


End file.
